


easy peasy, lemon squeezy

by Euphoriette



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons)
Genre: End of the World, Fake Character Death, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Minor Violence, Past Character Death, Suicide Attempt, This is just a oneshot, Time Travel Fix-It, idk if im going to write anything more for this au but dont expect anything, literally everyone but douxie and krel are dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:08:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28716291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euphoriette/pseuds/Euphoriette
Summary: In a memory backlit by explosions, Douxie remembers, in a line from some tv show, time being described as wibbly-wobbly.*Pls read the tags. If u find anything that makes u uncomfy, look away*
Relationships: Hisirdoux "Douxie" Casperan & Krel Tarron
Comments: 14
Kudos: 15





	easy peasy, lemon squeezy

**Author's Note:**

> please, PLEASE, be mindful of the tags. if you're not comfortable and it bothers you, TURN BACK NOW. last warning.

In a memory backlit by explosions, Douxie remembers, in a line from some tv show, time being described as wibbly-wobbly.

He could laugh at that now, darting about Merlin’s books, pages fluttering. The way he’s been hopping in and out of the past, he might as well have time at gunpoint. If only his master could see him now. Merlin’d roll in his grave, if he’d had one. In the future, specifically. The past? Douxie’s past?

Hm. Maybe time’s the one that’s got _him_ at gunpoint.

Anyway, ancient snake tribe texts got nothing. Turned out to be some weird recipe book on a hundred different ways to cook a rat. Why does his late master have this, again? Was it a gift? If so, then why did that creaky old grump even keep it?

In twelfth-century Camelot, high up in Merlin’s Tower, Douxie throws the rat recipe book to the side and turns to the vault, his last resort. With a wave of his hand, the rune-locks on the side whir, the combination clicks and the vault opens…

To reveal a leg of chicken.

Douxie huffs in frustration and tries again. And again and again…

A whole cabbage. No.

A strange, speckled egg. _No_.

An arm. With bites taken out of it. By the _seven rings_ -!

Douxie yells and kicks the vault door shut. Throws himself back against the sunlit windows on the tower’s side, letting the warmth of something other than raging fires seep through his bones.

There must be something. This can’t be it, it can’t! There _has_ to be-

Suddenly, the proverbial lightbulb goes off.

Summoning his staff, Douxie pops out the blue gem with a small burst of magic. Then he walks over to the vault and pries out the right-most rune, the same shade of blue.

Hoping against hope, Douxie snaps his gem in place of where the rune was, and with a wave of his hand, locks in the combination.

The vault clicks open, and the door swings wide to reveal-

“Bingo.” Douxie grins, reaching for the newly revealed book. Dusting off the worn, iron-bound cover, he flips through the pages until he finds the spell. The one that’s going to change everything. The one that’s going to take the world apart and put it back together.

Douxie rips his blue gem out of the vault, and slips it into his pocket. From his other pocket, he removes a green shard, a piece of Avalon’s heart, and sets it into the space in his staff. Slamming the iron-bound book shut, he fits it snug under his arm.

Grinning like a madman, Douxie slashes the air, his staff like a blade. The fabric of time tears, paper-thin and easy, and without a look back, he disappears into the green glow. 

Behind him, the tear closes, sealed back into nonexistence, like it was never there at all.  
__  


In the distance, half of what’s left of the city goes up in ice and flames. Even further than that, from his perch on a building, Krel can see a shadow. Tall and looming, an instrument of destruction. It swipes a shadowed hand to the ground and a spray of dirt goes up, probably a couple buildings, a park or two, scooped out of the ground like cement ice cream.

Krel Tarron, the only remaining heir of the Akiridion throne, looks at the world crumbling around him and wonders how in the hell it got this bad.

If he thinks back (he doesn’t often, it just makes him hurt), he’d suppose it would have started with the Trollhunters, killed like chess pieces being plucked off the board. All in all, the Arcane Order was done fucking around, which led to Jim being skewered on a spike of ice and Toby getting burnt alive, cooked like a roast inside his armor.

Claire, Krel imagines, went down the flashiest, like the real heroes of old. She, an experienced sorcerer herself, had fought to the last breath. Had taken a giant, an eldritch terror, and had dragged it into the shadow realm with her, never to be seen again.

Krel likes to fool himself into thinking she’ll come back. He knows better. A spell like that would have drained it’s caster immeasurably, _lethally_. Claire Nunez is as good as dead.

The Creepslayerz were the next to go. For what they had in bravery, they lacked in skill. Steve got himself squashed under a fallen building, and Eli was eaten alive. Just picked up by a monstrous hand, and tossed into a gaping maw. That day, a giant had dinner. 

That day, what was left of the Guardians of Arcadia had a funeral. Rather, a poor imitation of one.

And Aja, well, that’s Krel’s fault. He slipped up and fell right into the trajectory of an oncoming blast of white-hot fire. Aja, who had always moved more on instinct than anything else, had taken the blast for him.

She’s a statue now, a big, tall one. On Akiridion-5. Sometimes, Krel goes there and lays by her feet, hating himself all the while.

There’s another explosion, much closer now. The big shadow’s getting closer too, the ground starting to shake from it’s footsteps. The building Krel’s sitting on trembles dangerously, shuddering like a leaf in the wind. Then, the shadow roars, the sound like a thunderstorm.

On that note, Krel should go. He should run back to the bunker, get safe underground. 

But, at the same time, the serrator in his pocket seems to get heavier, like it’s making itself known. The monster, tearing up the ground, roars again and swats down a skyscraper. The core in his chest makes no noise at all, like there’s a space where it used to be.

Krel’s so tired. 

(He activates the serrator. Lets it form a long, sleek gun.)

It would be so quick. So painless, when all he’s known for so long is pain.

(He aims the gun at his temple, closes his eyes as the city before him collapses.)

He wouldn’t even feel a thing. Between one second and the next it’d be over.

(Krel puts his finger to the trigger, smiles like a devil might, and-)

There’s a tearing sound, not like the sound Claire’s portals would make. It’s more like fabric tearing, cloth being ripped apart, and before Krel can squeeze the trigger, something knocks the gun out of his hand.

Well, fuck. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Krel makes a valiant effort at quelling an oncoming headache, and turns to face the offending wizard.

“Casperan.” he says, irritably. “Impeccable timing, as ever.”

Douxie, right now, looks rather insane. His undercut’s grown out all disheveled, the lines on his face are more pronounced, and his eyes burn with a strange, manic fire. He looks at the serrator, skidded to the side, then looks back down at Krel.

Then, quick as a whip, Douxie punches him.

It’s not even that good of a punch, but it snaps Krel’s head to the side. There’s a feeling in his nose which means it’s about to bleed, and Krel pinches the bridge of it again, headache coming back stronger than ever.

“Hello to you, too, Douxie.” Krel says, giving the wizard his best grimace. In response, Douxie glares at him, manic-fire eyes burning, then stalks over and snatches up Krel’s serrator.

“I’m confiscating this.” he announces, putting it into his pocket. “No death sandwiches on my watch.”

“Choke on kneecaps, Hisir-douche.” Krel snaps. “Whatever you’re here to do, hurry up and get it done. I’ve got to at least _try_ and hold this front down, and I don’t need you and your time-traveling ass fucking shit up.”

“ _Hold this front down_. You havin’ a laugh, mate?” Douxie says, hands curling into fists. “And eatin’ the big one was going to help _how_?”

“ _Eat the big one_?” Krel smiles nastily, because if there’s one thing the Palchuk had taught him, it was mom jokes. “Like your mother ate mine last night?”

“ _Tozz feek_.” Douxie says briskly, choosing to ignore Krel’s dig. “I’ve got words for you, Tarron, but time’s a-wasting.”

Then, with a flourish (‘fucking theater kids’, Krel thinks) Douxie summons a book out of thin air with a pop of blue magic.

Krel sighs, counts down in his head. Three, two, one…

“I can fix this,” Douxie says, right on cue, and Krel groans, digging his nails into his scalp.

“Not this shit again.” he complains, and Douxie frowns at him, expression hurt, which Krel ignores. “ _I can fix this, I can fix this_ \- fucksake! You’ve been trying to fix it for three fucking years, asshole! We all have! And look where _that_ got us!”

To punctuate his point, something explodes, dangerously close, and sets the skyline on red fire. A shockwave of heat singes Krel’s hair, sends it flying into his face, making him sputter and bat it away furiously. Douxie's mouth quirks, bemused, and _kleb_ , does Krel want to hit him.

“You ought to get that cut.” Douxie comments, lightly.

“You ought to shut up.” Krel snaps, scowling at the other boy.

Douxie’s expression falls slack, then hardens into something mean, which is uncharacteristic for him. Douxie’s never mean if he can help it.

“If _Aja_ was here,” he says, coolly, “She’d listen to me instead of being a hopeless, suicidal idiot.”

The words punch Krel in the stomach, knocking the air out of him. Before he can stop himself, before his neurons can start up again, fire on all fronts, he’s running at Douxie. He’s going to kill that son of a bitch, he’s going to _kill_ him-

Without missing a beat, Douxie shoves the big book he summoned at Krel, slamming it into the other boy's stomach, and with the weight of it effectively folding him in half, Krel topples backward with a yelp, landing hard on his back. Adding further insult to injury, the accursed book has gall to slide out of his arms before he can properly grip it, making Krel gag and sputter as it's iron-wrought surface digs into his throat. 

Douxie, calm as ever, that shithead, crouches beside him, and tilts his head patronizingly.

“You… _bastard_...” Krel wheezes, shoving at the tome sitting heavy on his chest. “Sleep with an eye open, Casperan. Sleep with an eye _fucking open_."

Then, a shadow falls over the two of them, and they both look up, which proves a futile exertion. The thing they’re looking at is so tall, Krel can’t even see it’s face. What he _can_ see, though, are two eyes, glowing among the clouds like small, dull suns.

“Oh.” Krel says, numbly. “Could’ve sworn it was a _lot_ farther away.”

In response, the giant roars, sending down a rain of spittle, and swearing profusely in Arabic, Douxie yanks Krel and the book close to him. With a slash of his staff, he tears open time, easy as breathing, enveloping him and Krel in a haze of green light.  
___  


The previous morning, an alien and a wizard and a very important book crash unceremoniously through the roof of a McDonalds, totaling the ice cream machine in the process.

Eh. It never worked well in the first place, anyway.

For a few seconds, Krel wonders if he's passed out. Then, he realizes he just hasn't opened his eyes, yet. Before he can though, someone beneath him, that someone being Douxie, shoves him. So, tumbling off the wizard (and the obliterated ice cream machine, by extension), Krel hits the ground like a sack of potatoes and whines in pain.

“Shit, _shit_.” Douxie complains, heaving himself up. “I think I tore something.”

“Good.” Krel says, getting unsteadily to his feet. “You deserve it for that crack about my sister.”

Douxie, on his part, looks suitably cowed at that. Then, suddenly, some thought seems to click into place and his eyes become frantic, darting about until they land on the iron-wrought book he had brought through the time-tear.

“Listen. I’m sorry about what I said.” Douxie says, as he picks up the book. Resting it in his lap, he leans back against the remains of the ice cream machine and begins to flip rapidly through it’s pages. “But that part where I said I could fix everything? I meant it, Krel. I’ve been researching this for weeks, covering all our bases- hell, I even checked the time map and what I’ve figured out seems to be the best way to fix all of this.”

Krel raises an eyebrow. Not at any of what Douxie’s saying, no. It’s just...the look on his face. It’s open, wide-eyed, _hopeful_. Like, even after everything, despite it all, there’s something to believe in.

A look like that, is one that Krel hasn’t seen on Douxie in a long, long time.

"I think this could work, yeah? I really think-"

"Okay." Krel interrupts, and ambles over to sit himself by Douxie. They have a little hope, at least Douxie does, so why not let him fool himself for a little while longer? "Let's see what you've got then, Deuce."

Douxie, for a moment, looks so stupidly, blindingly happy. Looks younger, like the weight of the world on his shoulders has disappeared, or at the very least, lightened, even for a fleeting second. Hefting up the iron tome with a renewed determination, Douxie flips through it's pages in a whir, then stops at the one he's looking for.

"Right, then. So, all in all, I've found a spell." Douxie explains, eyes flicking over text undecipherable to Krel. "It's a lot like the time-traveling one I've been using, but different in the way that only your _soul_ travels and not your body."

"Wait, wait, _wait_." Krel says, incredulously. "Are you trying to tell me that if you work this spell on us, we're just basically going to _die_? That's so counterintuitive, I can't even begin to tell you how counterintuitive that is."

"Patience, young padawan." Douxie says. "While your body _here_ may die-"

" _Counterintuitive_." Krel insists.

"-it's not like your soul is just going to be lost to the ravages of time." Douxie continues. "It's going to be... _recycled_ , per se. Essentially, the spell will allow your soul to inhabit your old body and take over it's consciousness."

"As great as, you know, 'pulling a Morgana' sounds, wouldn't it be easier to just time travel the simple way?" Krel asks. "The no-souls-being-flayed-from-our-bodies way, I mean."

"It would." Douxie admits. "But, like I said, I've looked at the time map, Krel. And somehow, 'pulling a Morgana' seems to be the only way to make our future less, well…"

Douxie gestures vaguely, all around him. "...This."

"Understandable. This future sucks more ass than there are digits of pi." Krel agrees, nodding thoughtfully. "It's settled, then. What do we have to do?"

"It's not going to take much. But, I think you might have to do some amateur wizardry to make this work." Douxie says. He pulls Krel's serrator out of his pocket, then gives the other boy a suspicious look. Rolling his eyes, Krel scoffs.

"Amateur wizardry. Got it." Krel says drily, snatching up his serrator. "I really feel like you're ignoring the fact that I'm not magical in the slightest, though. I haven't pulled a rabbit out of a hat once in my life."

"Ha-ha." Douxie says, sarcastically. "Just summon a spear or something, and I can seal the gemstone I've got to it. Anyway, magic isn't _all_ that separate from science. Arguably, science is just magic that can be explained."

Krel gapes at Douxie, expression equal parts astounded and affronted. “But, by that logic, couldn’t magic just be science that hasn’t been explained yet?”

“S’not how it works.”

“ _What?!_ ”

“Yeah, that’s just…”

Suddenly, Douxie trails off, frowning. With a shiver, he pulls his jacket tighter around him and zips it up, tugging the sleeves so they extend over his hands.

“Hey. Is it just me, or did it just get...colder?” Douxie says, visibly tensing.

Krel pauses, the chill around him finally settling in. Shit it _is_ cold. But he could swear that it wasn’t just a minute ago? How could it get so cold so quickly…?

At the same time, Krel and Douxie see frost, thin and slow-moving, creeping along the floor. Their breath fogging in the air before them, they look at each other as they realize, all at once.

“Oh shit.” Krel says, and ice explodes into the McDonalds.

It’s really only instinct that saves him. Summoning a shield just in time to intercept an ice shard aimed at his chest, Krel sees Douxie, circles of magic whirring around the other boy's fists, and grabs his hand, yanking him down as a crystalline spear crashes through the wall, stopping inches above them. With only a moment spent to scoop up the spellbook, Douxie follows Krel's example and vaults over a metal counter, racing further back into the store.

“Oh fuck, I’m an idiot. I’m a stupid fucking _idiot_!” Douxie wheezes, panting from the exertion of carrying a spellbook while running for his life. “When I time-traveled us, I got sloppy. The unchecked energy must have given our location away.”

“It’s not _completely_ your fault!” Krel argues, skidding around a corner. “We fell out of the sky and crashed through the roof! If that wouldn’t attract attention I don’t know what would!”

“I’m the _reason_ we fell out of the sky and crashed through the roof, Krel!”

“Oh. Maybe you _are_ an idiot.”

Without a stumble, Krel transitions from a run to a kick, snapping out his leg and making the backdoor of the McDonalds fly off it’s hinges. Racing out onto the street, he and Douxie dive to the ground with minutes to spare as the building behind them explodes, the sheer level of ice within near-tearing it apart.

“Krel! Serrator! Spear!” Douxie orders, already on his feet and running. Summoning his staff, he rips the blue gemstone out and throws it at the other boy. " _Now_!”

Stumbling to his feet, Krel catches the stone, and fumbles with the serrator as he runs beside Douxie. Finally managing to summon a spear, he rips away the rubber band holding back his hair and ties the gemstone to his serrator-blade with it.

“Got it!” Krel shouts, shoving Douxie to the side as a blast of ice sails past them. “Now what?”

“Now _this_!"

Tearing a green gem from his pocket, Douxie slams it into the vacancy of his staff. Then, he plants the staff heavy on the ground and begins to chant, lime-bright runes forming in circles around him. As he chants, green shockwaves explode out, shattering the spikes of ice heading for them.

“Krel!” Douxie yells, and it’s enough to jolt him into working. Raising his own makeshift staff, Krel watches, speechless, as neon-bright magic flows around him, gathering about his feet, stitching itself along his skin. It’s…

“Amazing.” Krel whispers. “Douxie, this is…”

Krel looks up and catches sight of Douxie, no longer chanting, just wearing a soft smile. Gentle, so gentle, and a little bit sad, much like a book closing shut, or a song finally over. His eyes seem to drink Krel in, as if it's the last of him Douxie will ever see.

But it isn't, though. It isn't!

_Is it?_

"…Douxie?” Krel says, and oh, _oh_ , something isn’t right. Something is _not fucking right_. The magic swirling around Krel is fusing with him somehow, melting into his bones, into his very core, and Douxie’s crying. Quiet tears, streaming down the wizard’s face.

And, all at once, Krel gets it. It was never supposed to be them. Just him.

Just him.

“Douxie. No. Douxie, stop this!” Krel pleads desperately, clawing at his skin like he can somehow pull the magic out of him, stop whatever this is from happening. “Douxie, please, _please_! It doesn’t have to be this way, _please_.”

Douxie looks up, away into the distance where an ice storm is brewing, a reckoning and then some. Then, he looks back at Krel and gently takes his hand, threading their fingers together.

“Goodbye, Krel.” he says, his grin shaky but brave. “Don’t be sad, okay? This is no end. Only a beginning.”

“No!” Krel roars. The sound shreds his throat apart, but at the same time, seems so far away. Like somehow, his own voice is coming apart from him, out of his reach. “ _DOUXIE!_ ”

“Remember this, Tarron!” Douxie declares, raising his staff and turning to face the storm. “Don’t think!” 

He looks back at Krel, one last time, and grins with all his teeth.

“ _Become._ ”

Krel Tarron, Guardian of Arcadia, the last king of Akiridion-5, screams as his soul is torn away, as his friend faces down death itself, as the magic builds and builds and-  
___  


_A feeling. Like falling, like floating. Drowning one second, but breathing the next._

_Falling, floating, drowning, breathing, _flying_..._

_...Freedom._

_But it was never meant to last. The magic stitched to him wouldn’t allow it. It roils, rises, tugs his soul down like a leash, ties it to a body. A consciousness, small and scared, is eaten alive like the shore beneath the sea._

_He’s home. The wrong one, a smaller, younger one, but a home nonetheless. The magic’s done it’s job._

_‘The world waits for nothing, little one’, it whispers. ‘Rise now.’_

_‘Awake’._  
___  


_Easy-peasy, lemon squeezy, everything’s all right_ ~

Jolting awake in his bed, Krel rips the accursed alarm off his headboard and throws it at the wall, reveling in the way it shatters.

A heartbeat passes. 

Then, Krel laughs. Laughs and laughs, not caring about how loud he is. He laughs until his stomach hurts. He laughs until his throat hurts, until even his fucking eyeballs ache.

Sixteen and twenty and far too tired, Krel’s laugh turns into a cry turns into a sob.


End file.
